


Love Is A Bad Game

by thesilverwitch (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve tastes the inside of Tony’s mouth, alcohol and something else he can’t place, something sweet and terribly acid at the same time. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s probably the taste of Loki on the top of Tony’s tongue, and instead of repulsing him, this thought turns Steve on a thousand more times than it should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is A Bad Game

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely do not know how this happened and I'm not sure if I'm sorry either. This is Steve/Tony/Fem!Loki, except not really, because it's more like Steve/Tony with Fem!Loki playing the strings.

Calling it just another party is the underestimation of the century. It’s big, with new limousines stopping at the mansion’s gates every minute; it’s flashy, with flaring camera lights that blind everyone they manage to hit; it’s exquisite, with only the most gourmet food money could buy. It’s everything Steve detests pulled up into one glittery package.

Jan had told him it was for a good cause, but then again, she always says that. For Janet Van Dyne every party is a worthy and noble event. Don’t get Steve wrong, he loves Janet with all his professional heart and thinks she’s a lovely person and even lovelier teammate, but she has this thing for parties. Steve just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get why anyone would want so much superficial attention on them, why people would waste precious time and resources on such worthless events.

Sure. It’s for charity, but Steve is a firm believer that the best you can do for charity is to be there, actually be there, with your body and mind, helping out with your bare hands and talking to the less lucky ones.

Of course not everyone agrees with Steve’s opinion, and so, party and champagne it is. Steve sighs, leaning back against the wall and wishing he was everywhere else but there. He’s hidden in the shadows, in a way only a soldier from the war would know how, where no one can see him but he can see everyone.

Janet is wearing a golden strapless dress, that swims down her body like water and makes her look like the most expensive and delicate princess. Clint and Bruce are by the bar, wearing tuxedos and playing drinking games with a few others. Steve thinks he should stop them before things get out of hand, but he’s on his night off, and past the point of caring about the opinion of people he barely even knows. Natasha is talking to Coulson, a slim red dress with no back making her look more gorgeous than ever. Somewhere to his right, Hank is talking about ants to a fellow scientist, Steve had seen them earlier on, and Tony Stark is nowhere to be found.

Steve can’t help frowning against his martini-disguised drink at that realisation. It’s actually lemon ice tea, with just the barest hint of orange. He remembers the first time somebody handed him his fake drink: it was Tony, smiling at Steve as he whispered “they’ll stop pestering you with drinks if you have something in your hand.”

It had worked, nobody else had bothered Steve that night with the offer of champagne and caviar, but that didn’t surprise Steve at all. This – the parties, the insufferable people, the drinks – it’s all Tony’s world, a world that he navigates in like a shark on easy water. That’s why Steve finds it so puzzlingly odd that Tony isn’t there. A party is simply something Tony never skips on if he can avoid doing so.

And even though Steve would never admit it aloud, he’s also a bit disappointed that Tony is skipping out and hadn’t made up some excuse for Steve to skip with him too. They’re friends now, or at least as close to a friend as you can get with Tony Stark, and it is simply baffling how Tony could just ditch Steve to go do whatever it is he must be doing. Probably screwing some dumb blonde, or maybe even two.

Later, Steve finds out that he was wrong; Tony was not in fact screwing a dumb blonde. In reality, _he_ was being screwed by a vicarious brunette.

The pair walks in around midnight, when the streets outside the mansion are finally clearing out of all the photographers and limousines. Tony gets out of his Audi R8, and pushing the valet away, walks to the passenger’s door. That alone is enough to attract the attention of nearly everyone at the party. Tony Stark? Opening the door for someone? That was simply unheard of. It had to be some sort of joke, but no, he’s really doing it and look at who he’s opening the door for. Just look at _her_.

If there’s anything Steve finds himself truly regretting that night, it’s looking at her.

Skin as pale as a porcelain doll, a glistening red lipstick adorns her full lips, jet black hair running down her back, she’s wearing a tight black dress with green lines cutting it through and black stilettos with emerald stones. There’s something in the way she walks, something in the way she gently bows her head and laughs into her hand to Tony’s words, something that pulls everyone’s eyes to her and makes it impossible to look away. She’s beautiful, terrifyingly so, in a way that you’re stuck in the middles between mindless jealousy or pure adoration. As Steve looks around the rest of the party, he notices that almost everyone seems to fall under the pure adoration side, even the woman.

Steve can’t do it though, there’s just something about the woman in Tony’s arm that seems wrong. Tony is the one guiding them through the crowd, but it doesn’t truly look that way once Steve fixes his eyes on them. Almost like she’s the one gliding them through the sea of people, like she’s the one pulling them, making Tony move like a small puppet wrapped around her slender fingers.

Saying Steve doesn’t want to ask ‘what the fuck is going on’ is a lie, but despite wanting it quite badly, he can’t. Tony and his mysterious Lady seem to be constantly surrounded by people. All of them gravitate towards Tony’s date instead of Tony himself, which is something Steve’s never seen before. Usually no one can take their eyes off Tony, his sly tongue feeding charming stories to the ears of the most foolish and the most intelligent.

Steve doesn’t risk leaving his precious spot near the wall, afraid somebody else will find him as soon as he leaves the comfort of the shadows and bore him to death with stories of stuff he neither cares, nor wants to care about. It’s a bit cowardly of him, yes, Steve will admit to that. But there doesn’t seem to be any rush, Tony and the Lady seeming to be in an impressively deeply conversation with a General Thompson and his wife.

The watch in Steve’s wrist counts the time, slow seconds melting into each other as Steve keeps watching the party. As the night goes by the guests start to leave, and Steve’s doubts and worries start to leave with them. The initial charm of seeing Tony’s date seems to return, like a perfume inside his skin, making his vision and judgment cloud. The more Steve looks at her, the more he falls into her lure.

By three a.m., when the mansion’s living room is practically empty and only the Avengers and some few SHIELD personnel are left hanging around, Steve can’t even remember a moment in the past when he didn’t like Tony’s date. In fact, the only thing he can remember is that he must ask Tony who she is and get to know her too.

Steve nearly drags Tony to the hall - the key word here being nearly - not a single coherent thought running through his brain as he does so. “Steve, Steve what are you—” Tony tries to, and fails, to get out of Steve’s grasp as the taller man drags him.

“I like her,” Steve easily pushes Tony against a wall, standing right in front of  him and feeling Tony’s breath tickle his neck. “Who’s she?”

“What?” Tony takes a few moments to digest the question, a sharp grin growing on his face when he finally does so. “Oh, her? She’s just my friend.”

And there’s no missing it. The way Tony pronounces ‘friend’ as if the word itself was a game, the way his face seems to have lighten up, his body now relaxed against the plaster wall. It unnerves Steve to no end how Tony doesn’t seem to be willing to share, which is just not fair. Tony had already bailed on most of the party and left Steve to excruciating social contact, why should he be so selfish now too?

“Tony—“ Steve grabs Tony’s collar with his hands, frustrated and angry with Tony’s behavior, but his insult dies in his mouth as the focus of his questioning emerges from the doorway.

“Now, now boys. No need to fight over me.” The Lady says, only the barest hint of a smile placed on her scarlet lips. She holds herself against the wall a few feet away from Tony and Steve, her dress hanging precociously low on her chest as she leans forward just the tiniest bit.

“Loki, I was just telling Steve here—“

“Loki?” A big, flashing red sign ignites on Steve’s brain as his vision starts to clear away from the Lady’s perfume. This is Loki, disguised as a woman, a very good-looking woman yes, but it’s still Loki and Loki is evil. Loki is the reason why the Avengers got together, he, or maybe Steve should start calling him a she now, is definitely planning something bad and Steve knows it. Every fiber in his body knows it, and he also knows he should run or scream or punch or maybe do all of those at the same time, but all his knowledge and precaution seem to disappear into dust as Loki raises a single finger and pulls forward.

There are no strings connecting them, but it would have been exactly the same if there had been. Tony and Steve’s body connect with a crashing impact, mouths lining together in a mix of heat and spit as hands take to exploring each other. Steve tries to resist, but his hands pull instead of push and Tony was practically crawling on top of Steve’s body the second their bodies touched, dissolving into the kiss like the sweetest caramel.

Steve tastes the inside of Tony’s mouth, alcohol and something else he can’t place, something sweet and terribly acid at the same time. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s probably the taste of Loki on the top of Tony’s tongue, and instead of repulsing him, this thought turns Steve on a thousand more times than it should.

Somewhere to their left a sharp cough sounds, but Steve’s too busy savoring Tony’s moans against his mouth to care. His hands dwell underneath Tony’s shirt, and there’s another cough, a bit more persistent this time, and part of whatever cloud is on top of Steve’s brain seems to lift only for a second so he can realize there’s an open door next to them.

The door leads to a large bedroom with a very nice bed, silk red sheets and rose petals all over it. Except for the golden and scarlet leather sofa located right opposite the bed, there’s not another single piece of furniture in the room. Not that Steve notices this; in fact, he’s so busy trying to rip Tony’s suit out off of his slim body, he doesn’t even notice the room wasn’t there before.

The second the they cross the doorway is when everything gets hazy. Literally, if Steve thought his judgment and vision had been impaired before, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of disconnection brought upon him as he and Tony fall to the bed in a mess of entwined limbs. The whole world dissolves around them, the walls in the bedroom crumble into dust, the floor beneath their bed disappears into oblivion. There’s only him and Tony, there’s only the heat between them and their oblivious minds against each other. Steve doesn’t even – can’t – notice that the sofa has been occupied, and that all their movements are being watched, but even if he had been able to, he wouldn’t have cared either.

It’s hard to say where he begins and where Tony ends, their bodies so close together but somehow never close enough. Steve can feel Tony’s calloused hands running through his body, his mouth biting and licking Steve’s neck with firm pressure, but it isn’t enough. None of it is enough until Steve is fully inside Tony and they’re glued to each other by blind passion and reckless devotion. Steve’s thoughts no longer belong to him, they belong to a frustrated animal, desperate for more, and Tony seems to be exactly the same. Their bodies rut against each other, their hands and mouths leave ever-lasting marks on skin, creating helpless moans and destroying all logic.

Steve forgets where they are, how they got there, and for a small amount of time as his whole body shakes with pleasure and he comes on Tony’s stomach, who he is.

When he finally opens his eyes, after long minutes of gasping against the sheets and trying to recover his breath, with Tony’s body a warm weight beside him, they are no longer on the bed with red sheets. Instead they are in Tony’s room, where the bed is princess-style, heavy curtains are drawn in front of the windows and there’s a hazard mess of clothes on the floor.

Part of Steve knows he should get up and do something, anything that isn’t lying in bed and falling asleep, but his eyes are tired and Tony’s bed is more comfortable than anything else Steve’s ever lied on.

It isn’t until the next morning, when he wakes up with a armful of Stark in his lap and too many questions for his brain to handle, that he finds the small parchment note in front of the door.

_ Until we meet again. _

_ Lots of love, Loki _


End file.
